Like A River Through This House
by rahleeyah
Summary: When one of Sharon's children goes missing, she and Flynn must face their demons in order to save her before it's too late. *Story is on hiatus. Will come back, you know, eventually.
1. Chapter 1

_If regrets were like raindrops  
>There'd be a river running through this house<br>-James Wesley, "Didn't I"_

**Sunday, 7:30 pm**

Sharon looked at the box, smiling softly as she uncovered its contents, half-drunk glass of wine forgotten for the moment. She could always count on this gift, same day, every year. He never sent it through the mail, but somehow managed to leave it on her doorstep while she wasn't home. She'd left the house for no more than an hour today, and yet when she came back from her flying trip to the grocery store, it had been sitting there. Plain white box, little red bow.

It was always the same thing, and coming from anyone else, any other former-lover, she would have thought it vindictive. She knew better, though. She knew why he sent it.

Inside the box, sitting neatly on folded white tissue paper, was a pair of panties and a bra, matching pale pink silk and lace. He sent her underwear (expensive underwear) not to imply anything, but because he knew she loved having nice underthings. More than she loved a new pair of stilettos. If she told him the gift made her uncomfortable, he'd probably send her shoes, and they'd probably cost just as much as the slips of fabric in this box.

She knew he'd be no different the next time he saw her. He would offer her no smiles, would not be nice. But he'd know she would be wearing his gift, because she always seemed to see him the day after her birthday, and she always wore them the next day.

And this year would be no different. She knew she'd see him tomorrow. She'd been seeing a lot of him lately. And he'd been angrier with her lately; so much so that she was beginning to wonder if she could expect this gift at all. But in the eleven years she'd known him, he'd never missed her birthday. And his gift was always the same, because this was what he'd gotten her that first year, that first birthday after she met him, when they were still together. Or at least as together as they ever were.

She reached over for her glass of wine, wondering absently what time it was as she ran her fingers over her present.

She really did like these.

She wondered if this would be the year she thanked him for his gift. If this would be the year she smiled at him, that smile she knew drove him crazy. If this would be the year he would follow her, instead of letting her walk away again.

_Too much wine, Sharon,_ she thought, shaking her head.

That would not be this year.

That would never be them.

There were certain things they would never say to each other. Certain apologies they would never make. He would keep sending her panties on her birthday and she would keep giving him the cold shoulder and he would keep calling her the Wicked Witch because they'd broken each other and they were both much to proud to ever admit they were wrong once.

But once a year, Andy Flynn told Sharon Raydor in his own way that he cared about her, and that he hoped she was still ok, no matter what he told her to her face.

She drained her glass and rose on unsteady feet. It was still a bit early to be drinking, and the kids would be home any second, but fuck it today was her birthday and if she wanted to get drunk before the sun went down then she would and no one could tell her she was wrong.

People didn't really tell her that ever, anyway. The mighty Sharon Raydor wasn't wrong.

Except that she was, and on this day in particular thoughts of all the things she'd done wrong floated through her head alongside a picture show of the people she'd lost and the mistakes she'd made and all the little moments she wished had gone differently.

Andy Flynn featured prominently in this little slideshow, and that thought disturbed Sharon more than she really wanted to admit.

She put the box on her dresser, not bothering to stash its contents in the drawer, card tucked away inside, unread. She never did read the card. It could be blank every year for all she knew. She didn't read the card, and she didn't worry about someone seeing her present and asking questions. The kids wouldn't come in here anyway. What was the point of putting them away when she was just going to pull them out again in the morning? And they really were pretty. A little bow between the cups of the bra. One on each side of the panties. She wondered how he always knew what she wanted. Wondered if he imagined what she'd look like in his gift.

She knew he did, knew he put thought into it. Andy was actually a pretty thoughtful guy, regardless of what he wanted people to think. Hotheaded; yes. Temperamental; sometimes. But thoughtful, too.

She heard the sound of a car pulling into her drive, and cursed herself for spending so much time thinking about Andy Flynn. She wrapped her robe more tightly over her thin frame, and headed for the door.

Sharon always met her kids at the door, whenever they came home. She hadn't been able to be the milk-and-cookies-after school kind of mother, but she tried to make up for it where she could.

By the time she got to the door, the car outside was speeding away, and a little alarm bell started to go off in the back of her mind. It was too early yet for her to be afraid, but the fear was there, lying dormant where it had been since the day her first child was born.

She opened the door right as her sons came up the walk in front of her sprawling house, and the fear in her heart doubled in size. Her daughter was nowhere in sight.

The three of them had gone to a friend's house for the weekend; the Sharpe's had three kids, each corresponding in age almost exactly to Sharon's. They had more money than God and a huge house, and every once in awhile would host all three of Sharon's kids. She returned the favor occasionally, though not nearly as often. Sharon had a job. Marybeth Sharpe did not.

Lee and Sam, fifteen and thirteen years old, respectively, approached their mother with apprehension. They knew they had made a mistake. They knew they were in for the ass-chewing of their lives. They faced the firing squad like men.

"Boys," Sharon said in her deadly calm voice, "Where's your sister?"

Lee shrugged and stared at his shoes. Sam chewed on his lip and stared anxiously at his brother.

Sharon's daughter Emma, a high school senior newly turned eighteen, had driven the boys to the Sharpe's house on Saturday morning. Sharon had given her a car for her birthday, a nice, sensible used car even though her parents had reminded her (none too kindly) that she could afford a new one. Sharon knew she could afford it; she was simply loath to spoil any of her children. Emma had not driven the boys home.

The boys weren't giving their big sister up; not yet, anyway.

"Samuel," Sharon said quietly, and her youngest son broke. That was all it ever took to get the truth out of the boy. His name, said in a sharp tone of voice, and he would tell her everything she needed to know. After a years of interviewing her children, criminals were a piece of cake.

"Emma didn't go with us," he said quickly, and his brother socked him in the arm. "Ow!" he exclaimed. Lee just glared at him.

"What do you mean, she didn't go with you?"

"She dropped us off and then she went to Ashley's."

Sharon sighed. She really thought that Emma was past the anti-authority stage in her life, but evidently not.

"All right, in the house, you two. And straight to your rooms!"

The boys grumbled about their stupid sister getting them in trouble, but they did as they were told. They knew better than to cross their mother.

The fear that had begun to fester upon seeing the boys without their sister was beginning to turn into full-fledged panic. Sharon willed herself to remain calm and went back inside, already planning the diatribe she was going to unleash at her daughter the next time she saw her.

**Sunday, 11:30 pm**

Sharon was crying. She hated herself for it, but she was crying. She was terrified, and she was alone.

Emma hadn't come home. Emma's cell phone had gone to voicemail. A very contrite-sounding Ashley admitted that Emma had never actually gone over to her house that weekend, but that Ashley had agreed to cover for her. None of Emma's other friends knew where she was. The conversations always went the same way. _Sorry , but I haven't seen Emma since Friday._

Sharon wasn't proud of what she did next. She just didn't know where else to turn. She picked up the phone and dialed the one number she hadn't called yet.

"Andy?" she said, grateful to hear his voice, hoping he couldn't hear the tears she was fighting back. "I'm so sorry, I know it's late, I just didn't know who else to call."


	2. Chapter 2

**Monday, 2:30 am**

Sharon stared into the cup of coffee clutched in her hands, her third since Andy Flynn showed up what felt like days ago. He was pacing in the kitchen, on the phone with someone. He'd made the coffee for her. Her sons were sitting quietly on the couch, terrified. Sharon leaned in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, too anxious to sit still.

Emma still hadn't come home. Sharon had tried to convince herself that the girl would turn up, but her years in law enforcement had taught her to expect the worst.

Sharon had always worried about her children. When they were infants, the worry was that they would stop breathing in their cribs one night. And then they learned to walk, and Sharon worried that one day they would fall and she wouldn't be there to catch them. And then they went to school, and she worried about crazy people with guns. And then Emma was old enough to drive, and Sharon was terrified of getting that phone call.

And before tonight, her worrying had seemed foolish. She was just a mother, and mothers worry about their children and most of the time nothing ever happens. And then today her baby wasn't coming home and Sharon had no idea where she was, and a thousand awful scenarios, things Sharon had actually seen happen to other people's babies, were playing over and over in her mind.

Andy hadn't told her she was overreacting. He had put out a BOLO on Emma's car. He had wanted to call the Chief from the moment he walked in the door, but Sharon had told him not to. Sharon wanted to wait. She wanted to believe that Emma was going to come traipsing through the door, drunk or high or just out too late with the wrong people, and Sharon would hug her ferociously, and then yell at her for hours.

But Emma hadn't come home.

Andy finished his phone call and approached Sharon slowly, watching for some sign of trouble on her face.

"What did they say?" Sharon asked, hating the distressed tone of her voice. A thousand hopes had sprung up in her mind, momentarily outweighing her fears.

And then she got a look at Andy's face, and her hopes vanished as quickly as they had come.

Andy reached out, and took Sharon by the hand, leading her into the kitchen, out of earshot of the boys.

Tears leapt to the corners of her eyes.

People liked to believe that Sharon was a cold-hearted bitch, but the truth was, Sharon's heart was bigger than anyone ever realized. She could cry. She did cry. Andy knew this about her, and he knew how what he was about to say was going to affect her.

"Sharon," he said quietly, and the first of those tears found its way down her cheek.

"Jesus, Andy-"

"They didn't find her," he said quickly, cutting her off. "They've found her car. The Chief's on her way over here with the rest of the squad."

The coffee mug slipped out of her hand and shattered on the floor.

Lee and Sam spun around from their perch on the couch, just in time to see Andy Flynn wrap his arms around their mother.

**Monday, 3:15 am**

Sharon didn't want all these people in her house. She knew what they were doing, why they needed to be here, but she didn't want them. Didn't want Major Crimes touching her things, browsing through her life like it was just another crime scene.

The Deputy Chief was trying to talk to Sharon, but she wasn't really listening.

"Captain, are you listening to me?" Brenda asked, and Sharon's eyes snapped back to her face. Sharon saw the pity in Brenda's face and knew she must look like shit.

"I'm sorry, Chief, what were you saying?"

Brenda stared at Sharon for a moment, and Sharon almost laughed. How different this interaction seemed in comparison to their usual conversations. Ordinarily Brenda did everything but stick her fingers in her ears and hum to ignore Sharon, and now Sharon was the one who wasn't listening. The one who couldn't focus on what was actually happening in the moment.

"I was asking, Captain, about Emma's father," Brenda said, with an admirable calm in her voice.

Sharon didn't know why, but her eyes immediately sought out Andy Flynn across the room. She kept looking for him, and he kept close to her. As close as he could without anyone getting suspicious. She found she gathered strength from having him near. As strange as that was.

"Captain?" Brenda prompted, her patience wearing thin. Sharon was impressed it had lasted this long.

"Emma's father is dead, Chief," Sharon said coldly, her eyes returning to the blonde in front of her. "Several years now. So you don't have to worry about him." She didn't mean to sound as heartless in that moment as she did, but Mitch had been dead to her long before he actually stopped breathing. As harsh as it seemed to think it in this moment, Sharon couldn't help but feel his death had been a happy accident.

Brenda looked as though she honestly couldn't think of anything to say to that, and Sharon was saved any further explanation by the appearance of Provenza, with a pained look on his face and a white box in his hand.

Sharon's heart felt as though it had fallen straight through her chest and splattered on the ground like her coffee mug.

"Uh, Chief," Provenza began, shooting Sharon a look that was both somewhat apologetic and somewhat appreciative, "we were conducing the standard search of the house and we found something we thought you might wanna see."

Brenda had begun to walk in Provenza's direction when Andy reached out and stopped her with a gentle touch on her shoulder.

"Chief, I have it on good authority that today is the Captain's birthday. I really don't think a birthday present is going to help us find Emma."

Sharon could have kicked him in that moment. He might as well have jumped up and down waving a sign that said "I BOUGHT THE WICKED WITCH FANCY PANTIES" in glowing letters.

"Today's your birthday, Captain?" Brenda asked, wheeling around.

Sharon felt like she was drowning. Too many people in her house, too many questions, and her boys were all alone in the living room (with about nine uniformed officers) and they had to be as anxious as she was and surely they could use her more than the Chief could and no matter what she said they'd figure out that the present was from Andy, and she was fucked eighteen ways from Friday and she just wanted to hold her daughter in her arms and pretend none of this had happened-

Sharon just nodded, tight lipped.

"Well, who's the present from, Captain?"

There was no way in hell she was going to answer that.

Sharon started to brush past the three of them, but Andy stood directly in her way, with a look on his face that said, _oh no, if I have to deal with this bullshit then you do, too._

"No one, Chief, it really isn't important."

Which was the wrong thing to say because Brenda took the box from Provenza and her eyes got wide as dinner plates as she opened it.

For just a moment Sharon felt triumphant. None of these people (with the exception of Andy) knew a goddamned thing about her, and she was going to show them, show all of them, that she was so much more than they gave her credit for.

"Uh, Chief, there's a card," Provenza said, gesturing delicately with his hand, as if he was afraid to touch the lingerie in the box. Sharon really did laugh then, a short, nasty sounding bark of a laugh. Provenza was afraid to touch her panties.

Brenda reached gingerly into the box, and pulled out the card. She opened it, and read it. Her face went pale. She read the card again.

Sharon bit her lip, waiting.

Andy's hand brushed against hers, briefly.

"Lieutenant Flynn," Brenda said in a deadly quiet voice, "Can I speak with you a moment?" She walked away, and Flynn followed her, his face a mask. Sharon just sighed, and went into the living room to sit with her sons.

None of this was going to help them find Emma. Every minute the Chief wasted trying to figure out Sharon's love life was a moment not spent trying to figure out where Sharon's eighteen-year-old daughter was.

**Monday, 3:30 am**

"Lieutenant Flynn, would you mind telling me why you bought Captain Raydor underwear for her birthday?"

Well, Andy had never imagined he'd ever be asked that particular question.

"It's her birthday, Chief," he answered with a shrug.

"Lieutenant!" Brenda cried, stomping her foot.

"She likes underwear," he said, trying not to smile at the Chief's bewilderment. "Nice underwear," he corrected, and then braced himself in case the Chief hit him or something. He wouldn't put it past her.

"But we- you hate her!" Brenda sputtered, genuinely confused.

"Well, yeah, Chief, I guess I kinda do. But Sharon's… she's…well it's her birthday, and I always get her something nice on her birthday. "

Gabriel appeared then, his face drawn, tense, a cell phone clutched to his ear. "Yeah, ok.. yeah, I'll tell her… yeah, thanks," he said, and hung up the phone.

"Uh, Chief," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets, "I think we got a lead."

"What?" Andy asked, suddenly fearful. They needed as many leads as they could get right now, but he worried about what he was going to have to tell Sharon when he went back into the living room.

"Well, does the name Marcus Alexander mean anything to anyone?"

Andy Flynn slammed his fist down onto the surface of Sharon's kitchen table with so much force it was a wonder he didn't break every bone in his hand.

**Eleven years before**

Andy sat on Sharon's bed, watching Sharon run her fingers through her long, dark hair, ogling her curves draped in nothing but the moonlight drifting in through the cracks in the blinds on the window.

"God, you're gorgeous," he told her, and she smirked at him softly.

"And you promised you'd leave two hours ago," she told him.

"But it was such a good two hours," he said, and Sharon laughed.

He reached out and grabbed her hips, pulling her back onto his lap. She squealed, a sound no one would ever believe Sharon Raydor made, but she did, and he loved it. He kissed her behind her ear, and she sighed, leaning back against him.

"We've only got tonight," he said quietly, nibbling on her ear lobe, and he felt her shiver, naked in his arms.

"That's not true," she said, but they both knew she was lying.

His hands splayed out across the smooth plans of her stomach, and she toyed with his fingertips as he kissed a path across the back of her neck. They both knew that this was as much as they would ever have. A few stolen nights when they fell into bed, laughing together as they found the only method that had ever worked at keeping the darkness at bay. Andy, whose ex-wife hated him and wouldn't let him near their kids. Sharon, whose ex-husband had left her for a twenty-something piece of ass, and took her babies away from her twice a month. Sharon and Andy, who together saw the darkest sides of human life everyday. And somehow had to continue to function in society anyway.

Andy's hands were inching northward from Sharon's stomach, and she didn't stop him, dropping her own hands down onto his bare thighs below her, pressing back further against him. She could feel him hardening against her hip, and somehow, she knew that this was the only way she could forget her fears, for however brief a time.

His hands found her breasts even as his mouth returned to that spot behind her ear, that place that made her insides feel like jelly, and she moaned softly when he kissed her skin and ran his fingers over the hardened nubs of her nipples.

Andy loved this more than anything. Making Sharon forget all the things that made her so scared, so sad all the time. He loved seeing Sharon the way she really was, all softness and light. It was such a rare sight, Sharon laid bare before him, that he cursed their fate. Sharon had been hurt too much to ever truly give her heart to him, and Andy had failed too many times to ever truly be trusted with it.

One of his hands snaked between her perfect legs, and she turned her head to capture his mouth in a kiss, his tongue passing through her lips as his fingers slipped up and through her folds. She grinned against his mouth, and he pulled them backwards to lie on the bed, his fingers never leaving her heat, even when he slowly turned her over on top of him. She made a sound that was almost a whimper as his fingers twisted inside her, and bucked her hips against him. He was almost painfully hard, straining against the cotton of his boxers, but he wanted this for her first. Wanted to see her face.

His free hand found its way to her cheek, holding her there above him as he fucked her with his fingers, and she moved on top of him, perfect and happy, for now. And when she came whatever was left of the tension that usually marred her flawless face disappeared, and she shuddered before she collapsed, draped across his chest.

He started to tell her he loved her, but he thought better of it. He couldn't love her, not really, not the way she deserved, and even if he could, he knew she wouldn't let him. So he held her close, guiding her as she came back down.

She tilted her face up and kissed him then, long and slow, as if they had all the time in the world. And maybe they did. It was hard for him to remember that there was a world outside this bed when he held her like this.

"Andy," she breathed, and everything she needed and wanted was conveyed in the sound of his name falling from her lips. He flipped them, and her hands found their way to his waist, pulling his boxers down.

She guided him inside her, and God she felt perfect, wrapped around him. He found his rhythm quickly, hating himself for pounding into her this way, but she was practically screaming in his ear and he needed this now.

They came together, that time, and the sounds of their union almost drowned out the ringing of the phone.

Almost.

As soon as he could, he leaned over her, reaching for the phone, his softening cock still buried inside her. He lifted the phone and handed it to her, and she answered it breathlessly.

He couldn't stop himself from dropping kisses along her jaw, even as she struggled to listen to whoever was talking on the other end of the line.

And then Sharon reached up and stopped him herself, her face deadly serious.

He stayed there, suspended above her, still inside her, waiting.

She hung up the phone, and pushed him off.

"Sharon-"

"We have to go, Andy," she said, searching desperately for something. "Marcus Alexander just killed another girl. Goddamnit, where's my underwear?"

"Here," he said, climbing off the bed and reaching for the little white box she still hadn't opened. The one with the red bow on it. "Wear these."

She took the box from him, staring at him in surprise. "Happy Birthday, Sharon," he said. "Let's go."

She didn't get a chance to read the card.


	3. Chapter 3

**Monday, 3:35 am**

"I take it you've heard of Mr. Alexander before, Lieutenant," the Deputy Chief said, her eyes narrowing as she studied him.

Flynn had heard of him. Flynn had met him. Flynn had looked into his soulless eyes and wondered if perhaps this was the face of evil. Flynn had watched him walk away.

"You've got to tell Sharon, Chief," he said desperately, ignoring the throbbing pain in his hand.

Brenda shook her head. "We do not include the families-"

"You're not hearing me, Chief. She's the only one who can get through to him. She nearly had him, eleven years ago. She came closer than anyone else. If you want to find Alexander, and Emma, before it's too late, you need Sharon."

The use of Captain Raydor's first name set Brenda's teeth on edge, and Flynn knew it. He also knew how Sharon was going to take this news; that is to say, badly. Very badly.

"Well, before we tell the Captain anything, I think Sergeant Gabriel has some explaining to do," Brenda said evenly, turning her gaze onto the young Sergeant.

Gabriel took a step forward, seeming uncertain of himself. "Well, Chief, evidently Marcus Alexander called Chief Pope. Said he had something that belongs to Captain Raydor, but he would only return it to her in person. He hung up before we had a chance to trace the call."

Andy's heart dropped in his chest. _Something that belongs to Captain Raydor._ Andy wished he wasn't certain that thing was Emma, the most important thing in Sharon's life, in the hands of a killer.

"Lieutenant Flynn, what do we know about this guy?"

"I'll tell you everything, Chief, but we have to tell Sharon first. She needs to be a part of this conversation," Flynn told her. He almost said _please_, and Andy Flynn never said _please _to anyone in his life. Except for his mother and Sharon Raydor.

Brenda threw her arms up in the air, and Flynn took this as her way of giving him permission, and so he went with dragging feet back into the living room, where Sharon Raydor sat on the couch with her two sons.

For a moment, Andy remembered Sharon as she had been all those years ago. She had been more scared than cold, more cautious than distant, more compassionate than hard-hearted. He wasn't sure where that woman had gone. A part of him wondered if she wasn't hiding under the sharply pressed suits of a certain FID Captain. If that woman still existed, the one who laughed in his arms in another life, Andy feared the news he was about to deliver would destroy her forever.

"Sharon?" he said quietly, and she craned her head to look at him. She looked pretty, even with the circles under her eyes and the worry lines across her forehead. "We got something you're gonna want to hear."

The light in those green eyes that could dance with mischievousness seemed to go out upon hearing his words, and she slipped off the couch and onto her feet.

"Mom?" Sam said quietly, staring up at her, and she laid a gentle hand on his cheek.

"It's going to be ok, baby," she said, and walked off towards the kitchen, where the rest of Major Crimes was waiting for her. Andy followed her without a word.

"Captain," Brenda said when they entered the kitchen, preparing herself to deliver the news herself, but Andy deftly stepped between the two women, cutting the Chief off. He didn't want Sharon to hear this news from anyone else. This was his fault, and he was going to be the one to break her heart.

"Sharon," he said evenly, "Chief Pope got a call tonight. From Marcus Alexander-"

His explanation was cut off by the stinging slap of Sharon's hand across the side of his face.

"Captain!" Brenda exclaimed, but no one was paying attention to her. All eyes were focused on the slight form of Captain Raydor, trembling in her own kitchen.

"Jesus Christ, Andy," she nearly screamed, her normally pale face drawn gaunt in the artificial lights. There were no tears, only rage in her now. "I swear to God, Andy, if he has her, if he has my baby girl, if you-" she raised her hand to strike him again, and he caught her slender wrist in his hand, pulling her forward into his arms, holding her so tightly she couldn't even pound her fists against his chest.

"He's not going to hurt her, Sharon, I won't let him," Andy murmured against her dark hair, and finally she relaxed in his grip, burrowing her face in his shirt, her body wracked by silent sobs.

Brenda and the rest of the squad stared on in morbid fascination at the scene before them, certain they had never seen anything like this, and hoping they never would again.

"I won't let him hurt her," Andy said again, and he prayed that he wasn't lying.

**Eleven years before**

Sharon surveyed the carnage before her, a nauseous feeling rising in the pit of her stomach. The body of the young woman lying on the floor at Sharon's feet looked hauntingly familiar. Pretty face, dark hair, a single gunshot wound between two vacant green eyes. There was a small piece of blue paper clutched in her stiff fingers, a calling card from the man who had ended her life, and a warning to Sharon.

This was the eighth body in as many weeks. Sharon didn't know where Alexander kept finding these girls, but they kept cropping up. Her knees felt weak, her skin felt strange under her clothes and the lingerie Andy had bought for her, his smell thick on her skin and all she wanted to do was shower.

To make it worse, Andy wouldn't leave her side, hovering over her shoulder and asking questions of the officers on the scene. They had nothing to tell him, however, and they never would. The killer left no evidence behind, save for the note in the dead girl's hand. No prints, no hairs, no fibers, no shell casings. He was a ghost, but a ghost with a name. He called the police himself, using a payphone outside the apartment building before he wiped it clean.

_Marcus Alexander._

"Sharon," Andy said softly from somewhere behind her, and Sharon turned to face him on instinct. She wished she hadn't; he looked so concerned and confused, and she wanted nothing more than to leave this place and hold her children tight. But they were with her ex tonight, and she had nowhere else to go. No escape.

"We've got a problem," he told her, and she couldn't find it in herself to worry about what this new development might be.

"You mean another problem?" she said, her voice even and emotionless. She was spent. Another dead girl, another family, another week of having nothing to say. Another week of feeling like she was falling, with no net below to catch her.

"The vic has a daughter, and we can't find her," Andy told her, watching her face intently to see how she would respond.

And all Sharon could see in that moment was the face of her own daughter, barely seven years old. Emma had just started second grade. Sharon should have spent the night at home, helping her with her homework, brushing her hair, singing her to sleep. Just like the dead woman at her feet should be holding her own daughter, happy and safe. But she wasn't. No one was safe.

Sharon bent down, and reached out with one gloved hand to pull the note from the clutches of the woman whose name Sharon still didn't know. She unfolded the square of paper, and read the words printed in an efficient, even script.

_The darkness is coming for you, Sharon. No one is safe. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Monday, 5:00am**

Sharon stared at the murder board, and the faces of eight girls, long dead and forgotten. She was grateful that she'd remembered to close the blind to the Chief's office when she left her sons in there; she didn't want her boys to see this.

She stuffed her hands in her pockets and studied the pictures, the bullet holes and the eerily clean rooms in which the girls had been found. She fought the memories that flooded her as she read the notes on the board, written in her own precise hand. She'd filled in the blanks, refused to speak. She couldn't bear to look Andy in the eyes, and she couldn't bring herself to speak to the Chief. They had only just reached the point of tolerating each other, and the last thing she wanted was to open this broken part of herself to Brenda Leigh Johnson.

Andy had given her space, still feeling the sting of her hand on his face. He knew he'd deserved it, knew what he'd done. He couldn't change their past, couldn't undo the mistakes he'd made. Something in him felt as if it had broken at the sight of Sharon, gazing with unseeing eyes at the board, trying so hard to be Captain Raydor. He didn't know how she was so calm; he knew her heart was breaking every moment Emma was gone. He remembered Emma as she had been all those years ago, a beautiful dark-eyed child who reminded him so much of her mother. She was always a smart girl, too smart for her own good he thought, because at only seven years old she understood what her father had done, had seen the sadness in her mother and absorbed some of it herself. There was nothing Andy wanted so much as to bring the girl home to her mother, but he felt a sense of hopelessness as his own eyes drifted over the murder board. Marcus Alexander, the one man they'd never caught, the one who terrorized Sharon and then drifted away, leaving Andy and Sharon to fumble, picking up the pieces as Alexander himself did whatever it was he pleased.

"Lieutenant?" Brenda said softly, coming to stand beside him, uncharacteristically stoic.

"Chief," he answered, turning to her.

He saw her face as she stared at Sharon, and the murder board. He realized there would have to be a briefing. They had mobilized the LAPD downstairs, had men searching everywhere for Emma's car, had officers with her picture and Alexander's in their hands, covering the city, they were doing everything they could, and he knew it would never be enough. It didn't matter what they did. The only person who could ever catch Alexander was Sharon, and at the moment, she was silent as the corpses of the girls whose faces Andy had never forgotten.

"Those girls," Brenda said slowly, as if she didn't want to finish her own sentence, "they look an awful lot like…" her voice trailed off, turning her head back to Sharon to fill in the blanks her words left.

Andy just nodded. They did look an awful lot like Sharon. All of them.

"We met Alexander a little over eleven years ago, when his girlfriend died. We could never prove her death wasn't suicide, but it didn't matter. He'd already fixated on her. It was maybe six months after we first questioned him that these girls started dying. They don't just look like the Captain, Chief. They've all got similar histories. Shitty parents, asshole ex-husbands, addicted to their jobs. The last few girls had kids."

Brenda stared at him, obviously trying to wrap her mind around the realization that Captain Raydor did, in fact, have a personal life. She seemed shocked, somehow, to find herself face-to-face with the reality of Sharon as a person. Andy understood her surprise; Sharon was an unnaturally private person. Always had been. There were some secrets, she said, that needed to be kept.

Unfortunately for Sharon, now was not the time for keeping secrets.

"Speaking of ex-husbands, what exactly happened to Captain Raydor's ex? I understand he's dead, but-"

"How?" Andy finished her sentence, already several steps ahead. This was one secret he really didn't want to share with the Chief without Sharon's permission, but he didn't know what else to do in this moment. And a part of him wanted to tell the Chief, wanted to show her just how awful things had become, there at the end.

"A few months after the last girl died, we hadn't heard a sound from Marcus Alexander. He just fell off the map. And then Sharon got a call from Mitch's- that's her husband- from Mitch's girlfriend. She was hysterical, said she came home from a vacation and found Mitch dead on the floor, shot in the head. There was a gun in his hand, so at first the investigating officers thought it was suicide."

"But," the Chief supplied, understand dawning in her eyes.

"But there were no prints on the gun, or anywhere in the apartment. There was no note, but we had a pretty good idea who did it."

"Alexander?" the Chief asked, stunned.

Andy nodded. "It couldn't have been the girlfriend. Not only did she have a good alibi, she didn't have a motive. Mitch had plenty of money, but she was just his girlfriend. All his money went to Sharon and the kids. I think Alexander did it. His way of reaching out to Sharon. In his own twisted way, he thought he cared about her, and Mitch had hurt her."

"So Alexander hurt him right back," the Chief said, still somewhat awe-struck by the news.

Sharon turned away from the murder board, tired green-eyes searching for Andy across the room. He caught her gaze, and nodded. He wanted to hold her, tell her everything was going to be ok, but he knew he couldn't. She wouldn't let him, and even if she did, he'd only be lying.

"Andy," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. She had become someone else, in recent years, someone who didn't need people, someone who believed in the rules and little else. Andy didn't recognize that woman. In this moment, though, she'd lost her usually commanding presence, and in its place was the Sharon Raydor Andy remembered from years ago, lost and scared and in need of a shoulder to lean on.

"I'm sorry I hit you," she said, the tone of her voice betraying an intimacy they hadn't enjoyed for over a decade. The Chief shifted on her feet, visibly uncomfortable, but remained to watch the scene unfold.

"It's ok," he told her, and he meant it. "I know why you're angry with me, but honest to God, I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

She gazed up at him, unable to cry any more than she already had.

"I'd always choose you, Sharon."

**Eleven years before**

"I'm sorry, Sergeant, but you're off the case," the Chief said matter-of-factly, his tone causing Sharon to bristle. _Off the case? _There was no case without Sharon. Surely the Chief of Police could understand that.

"Chief-"

"Sergeant Raydor, this is not a discussion. You're too close. This guy is gunning for you. I can't have you running around out there trying to track him down. You'd be making it easy for him."

Sharon opened her mouth to protest again, to say that she'd nearly gotten him to confess the last time he'd been in the interview room, if she just had one more chance, something, but the Chief interrupted her.

"Your partner agrees with me," he said.

_Andy. _Andy agreed with him? Andy thought Sharon should be off the case? She felt her anger rising, found herself unable to speak. _How could he? _Andy knew what this mean to Sharon. He _knew_. He knew that she needed to catch this guy herself. That she needed to prove to herself that she was strong enough to do this.

"In fact, he's the one who suggested it."

Sharon wasn't sure she could have felt more devastated, but the Chief's words crushed her. Andy suggested she be taken off the case. Andy didn't have faith in her. And here she stood in the Chief's office, not six hours after she'd been lying in Andy's arms, sweaty and naked and as close to happy as she'd been in a long time. God, this was the worst birthday she'd had in a long time.

"So, go home, Sergeant. Take some time for yourself. We're going to keep your home under surveillance, in case Alexander tries to make contact with you. Be careful." And with that, Sharon was dismissed, sent to her house, which she knew would feel empty without her children, who were still with their father, and her bed, which would feel empty with Andy, who was probably never going to come back there again. How could she let him, knowing that he didn't trust her to handle herself?

He was waiting for her outside the Chief's office, but she tried to rush past in an effort to keep herself from crying right there in front of everyone. Another dead girl, another failure, another time when Sharon Raydor wasn't good enough for the people around her.

"Sharon," he said, catching her arm, forcing her to look at him. "Let me explain-"

"There's nothing to explain, Andy. You don't think I can do my job. That's all I need to know."

The look on his face sliced through her like a knife, but she refused to yield.

"That's not true," he said softly, but she shook her head.

"Yes, it is. You think I'll screw this up, and you told the Chief," she was practically spitting her words at him.

"Sharon, no one could do better than you, no one. I'm just worried about you, baby."

As soon as the word was out of his mouth, he regretted it. It had been a simple slip; Andy always called his girlfriends _baby_, always made sure everyone knew who belonged to him. And he wasn't sure when he had decided that Sharon belonged to him, but he had, and he wanted nothing more than to have her.

Only Sharon wasn't his for the taking.

"What did you say?" she snarled, jerking her arm out of his grip.

"Look, Sharon, I'm sorry but you've-"

"I'm going home, Flynn," she said, and stormed away.

Andy didn't follow her.

She drove home without realizing what she was doing, the car just sort of steering itself down familiar roads until she pulled up in front of her house. She sat in the car for a long time, thinking about the mistakes she'd made, and the note Alexander had left for her.

_The darkness is coming for you, Sharon. No one is safe. _

She had the feeling the darkness wasn't coming. She felt as if it were already upon her.

When she finally got out of her car and walked into her house, she didn't immediately notice something was wrong. She should have, really. He'd gone through her things; moved some pictures, read some letters, helped himself to a glass of water. She didn't notice his jacket draped over her catch as she drifted through her living room.

She did notice him when he pressed a gun against her back and murmured in her ear, "I told you I was coming, Sharon."

She couldn't think, couldn't move. She still had her gun, tucked in its holster under her jacket, but she didn't reach for it. She didn't know what to do.

"Where're the kids, Sharon?" he asked, nudging her into the kitchen with the barrel of his gun.

"Not here," she answered, shocked by how steady her voice sounded. Every part of her felt as if it were shaking.

"Don't tell me they're with Mitch," Alexander said, and Sharon shivered. He knew her life, knew every part of her. And he could take it all away from her, with the twitch of a finger.

"It's his turn," she said simply, and the man barked out a laugh.

"As if he deserves them, after leaving you for that harpy."

"Something tells me you didn't come here to talk about my ex-husband. Maybe you came to talk about all those girls you killed." She was grasping at straws and she knew it, but she needed to keep talking. Needed the time to think.

Alexander laughed again, motioned for her to sit at her kitchen table, though he kept the gun trained on her.

"Very funny, Sharon. I didn't come to talk about them; I came to talk about you. Which is the same thing, I suppose."

She stared at him, at the shiny metal of his gun, wondering how long it would take her to draw her weapon and drop him where he sat across from her.

"Don't even think about it, Sharon," he said sharply, as if he'd read her mind, and she tensed.

"I actually came here to talk about your friend Andy," he said, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out an envelope. He opened it with one hand, keeping a careful eye on Sharon, and produced several small pictures. He spread them out in front of her.

Sharon and Andy sharing drinks at his house last month.

Sharon and Andy kissing in the parking lot outside the restaurant where they ate dinner two weeks ago.

Sharon hugging Andy as he arrived at her door with a white box the night before.

"Seems he's got quite the crush on you, Sharon," Alexander said, his familiar tone sending chills down her spine. "And maybe you have a little crush yourself. But I have to tell you, Sharon, I don't think it's going to work out."

···

Andy couldn't say what it was, exactly, that tipped him off to the fact that something was wrong. He pulled into Sharon's driveway, and her car was there, where it should have been, her door closed, as it should have been. Something just wasn't as it should be, and so he approached the front door carefully, his hand on the gun at his side.

His fingertips were on the doorknob when he heard two shots in quick succession, and he threw the door open, desperate to find her.

He ran into the kitchen, and found Marcus Alexander, his shoulder bleeding, and one arm wrapped around the limp form of Sharon Raydor.

"Freeze! LAPD!" Andy shouted, aiming for him, not firing off a round for fear of hitting Sharon instead.

Alexander sneered at him.

"Go ahead, shoot me!" he shouted. "You'll kill her. She's losing a lot of blood. You really want to take that risk, Flynn?"

Andy braced himself to fire, and at that moment, Alexander threw Sharon forward. Without thinking, Andy lunged to catch her. He collapsed underneath her on the floor, her blood staining her pale skin and the front of his white button-down, and Alexander took the opportunity to run out the back door. Andy fired off three rounds at his back, but the man was already gone. It was too late.

"Andy," Sharon said, her voice distant and weak sounding.

"I'm right here, Sharon. I'm right here." He grabbed the phone off the counter, not letting her out of his arms, and called for an ambulance.

"I'm right here."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I realize there was some discrepancy about Emma's car. Evidently while writing chapter four I forgot that in chapter two I decided that they had found it. So now we will go forth with chapter five under the impression that they have, in fact, found Emma's vehicle. This is why I need an actual beta. (No offense, LE. Babe you know watching your facial expressions while you read my fic is my favorite part of the day.)**

**···**

**Monday, 5:30 am**

Andy stood at the front of the murder room, the squad and Sharon Raydor gathered before him, waiting. He had to start the briefing. He had to tell them all about Marcus Alexander, and he had to find a way to do it without hurting Sharon even more than he already had. The tapes of the old interviews had arrived with all the evidence from the previous crime scenes, including all the little blue notes. No matter how badly Andy wanted to pretend that it had all been a bad dream, the proof of it was scattered across the murder board and in a few cardboard boxes on the desks in front of him.

The Chief nodded to Andy, and he took a deep breath. Now or never.

"Alright, so Marcus Alexander. Captain Raydor and I first encountered this scumbag eleven years ago. We'd been partners for maybe three months." He didn't know why he said that. Maybe just to see the looks of shock on everyone's faces. No one had known that Andy and Sharon had worked together, not even the Chief. Provenza seemed particularly devastated by the news. He and Andy had made a spectacular game out of insulting the Captain, and this latest discovery (that Andy had not only sent the woman lingerie for her birthday but also that he had been _partners_ with her) seemed to have cast the old man into an almost catatonic state. Andy shrugged and continued. This briefing was going to be hard enough without having to worry about what everyone thought of him.

"Alexander's girlfriend, a girl name Lauren Grant," he pointed to her picture on the board, "turned up dead in her house. Alexander called it in. The Captain and I went to investigate." Andy was very careful not to call her Sharon. "We could never prove that it wasn't suicide, but there was just something off about this guy from the start. We brought him in for an interview, and Captain Raydor was able to push his buttons. He had a mean streak, and he was prone to, uh, violent outbursts. We just couldn't pin it on him. When we released him, he left a blue note on the Captain's desk." Andy motioned to the first of nine small squares of blue paper.

_We'll meet again, Sharon. Misery loves company. _

"He disappeared for a while, and then this girl, Amanda Weaver, turned up." He pointed to the next picture. Lauren had been of slightly-less-than-average height, with dirty blonde hair and unremarkable features. Amanda was taller, with dark auburn hair and clear green eyes, and the kind of face that made people do a double-take. "We had no evidence tying her to Alexander except for the note he left in her hand." Andy pointed to the next piece of blue paper.

_In the end we all die alone, Sharon. And most of us live that way. _

"After that, Alexander killed one girl a week."

Megan Cole.

_Beauty is a lie, Sharon. It is often a mask for brokenness._

Allie Baker.

_No one loves you, Sharon. No one loves anyone. _

Amber Thomas.

_Do you ever wonder why he left you, Sharon? I think it's because he knew you were defective._

Rosie Townsend.

_So much sadness in the world, Sharon. You deserve all of it. _

Lynn Harper.

_Do you know why I kill them, Sharon? Because you look so beautiful when you cry._

Kristen Lyles.

_The noose is tightening, Sharon. Perhaps your suffering will end sooner than you thought._

Casey Lowman.

_The darkness is coming for you, Sharon. No one is safe. _

"The last woman, Casey Lowman, she had a seven year old daughter." Andy did not mention that Emma had been the exact same age. Didn't want to bring that up here, in front of everyone.

"When Alexander killed Casey, he took the little girl. Her name was Maggie. We never got a chance to find out why, or what he did with her."

"Why not? Where did Alexander go?" the Chief asked. It was the first word any one had spoken since Andy had begun his litany of Marcus Alexander's crimes.

Andy balked at the question. He didn't want to tell her this part of the story. He knew it was included in the notes from the case, but he still couldn't quite bring himself to say the words aloud.

"Because I let him go, Chief," Sharon said from her perch in the back of the room. Everyone turned to face her as she continued, "Alexander broke into my house, and I didn't react the way I should have. He shot me and escaped."

No one had anything to say to that. Not that there was anything to say, really.

Andy searched desperately for something to say, some way to break the silence that had fallen.

"We never stopped looking for him, but he left no trace. There was no physical evidence at the crime scenes, and we tried everything, but he never turned up. Now," he cleared his throat, pulled a toothpick out of his pocket, stuck it between his teeth, "here's what we know about Emma."

Sharon turned away and walked back to the Chief's office, ostensibly to check in on her sons. No one questioned her. She didn't want to hear what Andy had to say.

"The last time Captain Raydor saw her was Friday evening when she drove the boys to the Sharpe's house. I've spoken with them, and they say that Emma told them there was a change of plans. She dropped the boys off and she left. She told the boys she was going to a friend's house, Ashley Chapman. We have Ashley and her parents in an interview room right now. When Sharon called her, Ashley said that Emma never intended to come to her house, so we need to figure out where she was going. Now, about her car. We found it outside Elysian Fields. There were no prints in the vehicle at all, not even Emma's. We did find her cell phone, but it had been turned off." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "That's all we know."

···

Sharon sat on the edge of the Chief's desk, watching her sons. They had fallen asleep in the chairs, too tired to remain upright any longer. They seemed so peaceful in sleep. Able to escape, for however brief a time, the hideousness of their situation. Sharon had no such respite.

···


	6. Chapter 6

Sharon was still leaning up against the desk in the Chief's office when it happened. She saw the commotion in the murder room, watched everyone rushing to gather around the phone on Flynn's desk. She saw the anger washing over his face, watched his whole body tense up, and she knew.

She saw Andy look up, caught his eye, and her knees threatened to give way.

The Chief motioned towards the office, and Andy set off at once.

Sharon still couldn't move.

Andy opened the door, his face drawn and pale.

"It's him, isn't it?" Sharon asked, and Andy nodded.

"He said he won't speak to anyone but you. Sharon, I'm so sorry," he said quietly, and finally her feet found purchase on the tile floor. She moved slowly, carefully, with one last lingering look at her boys. She would give everything to take this back, to make it so that this had never happened, so that her children would never know the fear that had become a constant part of her life. She knew it was too late, but she still wished for it anyway.

They all watched her as she walked towards Flynn's desk, a condemned prisoner heading for the gallows. She knew what was waiting for her when she answered the phone. This monster had her daughter, and he knew her every weakness. Sharon was beginning to suspect there was no way they could beat him. She tried to imagine a scenario in which this all ended well, with Alexander dead and Emma back in her arms, but with each passing moment such a vision seemed more and more impossible.

She saw the pity in their eyes, the fear. She knew those feelings well.

She took a deep breath, and pressed the speakerphone button, broadcasting their conversation to everyone in the room.

"Marcus," she said mildly, and watched the surprise wash over every face. They had expected her to be frazzled, angry, aggressive, certainly; they had expected her to scream, to demand that Alexander return her child unharmed, to threaten him with bodily harm. They had not expected this aloofness, and Sharon knew her response frightened them as much as the prospect of Alexander did.

They didn't know a goddamn thing about her.

"Sharon, my dear, it's wonderful to hear your voice again," he said, his disembodied voice pulling her back at once to that night in her kitchen, to the feel of hot lead tearing through her gut, to Andy catching her as she fell, choosing her, every time. She trembled, ever so slightly, and no one noticed.

No one but Andy, who reached out without thinking and took her hand in his own.

"I believe you have something that belongs to me, Marcus, and I'd like it back. Unharmed," she said, throwing his own words back at him, and the man laughed.

"Oh, I have no intention of harming her, Sharon!" he said jovially. "I really don't care about that. What I care about is you. Don't you see? I want to talk to you, face to face."

"You tell me where, and I'll be there. So long as you don't touch her. I swear to God, Marcus, if you so much as-"

"Save me your righteous indignation, Sharon," he spat. "I know your people are tracing this call as we speak. I have made no attempts to hide myself from you."

"That was foolish," she told him.

"I'd watch your mouth if I was you, Captain," he said, and Andy's fingers tightened protectively around hers. Everyone was staring at the phone, as though it were Alexander himself. Everyone but the Chief, whose eyes were trained on Sharon's hand entwined with Andy's.

"Here's what I want: you, Sharon. You come here, alone, and unarmed. You _walk_ up to the door. No cars. And don't try to be sneaky. I've rigged this building to blow if any of the doors or windows are opened. If I see _any_ cars parked outside, I will blow your baby all to hell. You hear me? If I see any cars drive by more than once, I will blow this building up. If anyone is with you-"

"I get the picture, Marcus. I'll come alone."

"You could bring Andy, if you like. Been awhile since I've seen your boyfriend. How's his drinking?"

It was Sharon's turn to squeeze Andy's hand. She felt his tension, strung taught as a bowstring next to her.

"You won't be seeing anyone until I speak to Emma," she told him, desperate to hear her child's voice, hoping she didn't sound as helpless as she felt.

Marcus was silent for several long moments before a rustling sound echoed over the phone and Emma's terrified voice filled the murder room.

"Mom?" she asked, and Sharon's hand reached out for the phone before she realized what she was doing. She snatched her hand back, stuffing it in her pocket as she spoke.

"Emma, oh thank God. Are you alright?" she asked, terrified and relieved and angry and a thousand different things all at once.

"I just want to come home!" Emma had begun to cry, and the sound of it wrenched at Sharon's heart. She was grateful for Andy's quiet strength beside her. "I'm so sorry, mom, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"That's quite enough, now," Marcus said curtly, and the sound of Emma's tears faded away. "You have half an hour, Sharon."

The line went dead.

**Eleven Years Before**

Andy held Sharon's hands in his own, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, listening to the quiet hum of the monitors hooked up to her body. He wasn't sure how long he had been there by her side, or how much longer it would be before she finally woke up, he just knew he wasn't going anywhere. He couldn't leave her, not now. Not after he'd let Alexander walk away. He would be there when she woke up, because he could not allow himself to fail her again.


End file.
